Amal's belly filled with food and water, for the first time in near a week he felt comfortable. Even in this strange land, where the night fell late and the air felt strange and humid. He had taken all three weapons to carry over to the area they had chosen for camp. Behind them the trees were thick and hard to navigate through, even for Amal, so an attack from there would be unlikely. In front of them was the wide open ocean, and the twin moons of the world stood tall, bearing their reflections down on the soft waves that slid over the sand with a calming rhythm. 

As Emmaline had been reading the Brettonian letters, Amal had initially been throwing a roughly circular rock towards the sea, watching to see if the carpet could catch it before the stone hit the water. It managed to whisk away the stone close to a dozen times before it wasn't swift enough, the water 'plunking' into the surf as the carpet spasmed in a fit. It zipped over and huffed, flattening on the ground on the other side of the fire. 

"Come now, it happens to everyone." Amal said, but it was unwilling to perk up again except for a perfunctory wave from its fluffed arms. 

After that, Amal had examined the daggers. Some weapons were jeweled because they were mere ornament pieces, but he knew blades well. These daggers were sharp and combat ready, the blades being a hand and a half tall by his reckoning, two hands tall by Emmaline's he guessed. The short sword was nearly twice that length, though it didn't look as finely crafted. It would do in a pinch, made from good steel and likely castle crafted. Setting the sword down, the thief lay back, head resting upon the log as he took a small piece of driftwood and used one of the daggers to idly carve its length. 

Perhaps it was because he missed home, or perhaps because he couldn't take his mind off of Settra's curse that stranded them here, but he began to carve a Sphynx. Deftly maneuvering the knife along the soft wood, a rough shape began to form as the minutes passed. Despite his lack of education, he was skilled in more ways than looting and violence, with a quick mind and an attention to detail. He wondered if this was how the elders felt when they had retired from their duties. To sit by a fire calmly and whittle away at something trivial but fulfilling to give the long hours meaning. 

These musings flew away when Emmaline turned and leaned against him, her book closed and her fingers walking along his bare chest. Amal's eyes ran along her jawline and her lips, immediately feeling a stirring below the belt. He leaned in to kiss her, only to stop and perk up, looking back behind them like a hound. He had heard nothing, but he needed to make sure. Long years alert told him to check, but also the fact that the boat collapsed last time before they could cuddle irked him. 

A long moment passed before he relaxed his posture again, not giving Emmaline time to question it. 

"One another," He answered, cupping her chin and kissing her greedily, having been nearly as famished sexually as he had been in other areas. 
[@Penny]